Zodiac (5 page)

“The other moons?” I ask, my breath catching. “Did something happen to them?”

He stares at me, and I get the sense he’s observing me for the first time. He looks for so long, I begin to feel uncomfortable, but I don’t turn away. The same instinct that helps me read the stars seems to be whispering to me now. If I want him to treat me like an equal, I need to act like one.

He swipes the Wave from my hands and opens it. I don’t protest. He scans the holograms surrounding him and pulls up the Ephemeris. When the spectral Space map blossoms out, he asks, “You can read the stars with this?”

He sounds so doubtful that I blush. “Not very well. It’s just a tutorial version.”

He tips his head to one side, searching my face, continuing to float in the same steady position. “Your reading’s correct,” he says, his voice stony. “Our four moons have collided, and the rubble is streaking through our atmosphere. In the next few hours, it will strike our ocean and cause planet-wide tsunami waves. We can’t land on Cancer.”

The edges of my vision darken. I feel like he’s sucked the light from my world with his words.

Everything that happened tonight was almost endurable at the thought of setting foot in the Cancer Sea, of sleeping in my old room, of hugging Dad and saying all the things I never said. I take a ragged breath, and Nishi steadies me with her arm. Dad—Stanton—the Academy—
home
—everything I know is sinking away.

I’m Centerless.

Mathias clears his throat, and I realize he isn’t finished. Lowering his eyes, he whispers, “Our Guardian Origene is dead.”

THE SHOCK ROBS ME
OF
speech and thought, almost of breath itself.

My mind is blank.

My classmates and teachers, maybe my brother and Dad, now Guardian Origene—so many of our people lost in one night. I feel as if their screams are still echoing through the universe, filling my head with their voices.

Nishiko and Deke are as frozen as I am, and the three of us listen to Kai’s quiet sobbing like it’s an alien language we’ve only just begun to learn.

Mathias continues in a low baritone. “We’ll dock at a satellite called Oceon 6. Admiral Crius is there, organizing our House’s disaster response. He’s Guardian Origene’s Military Advisor, and he’s ordered all surviving Cancrian Zodai to report, and that includes you Acolytes.”

“Who’ll be our Guardian now?” asks Kai.

“We’ll find a new one. It’s our first priority.” Mathias turns to Nishi. “You’re Sagittarian?” She nods. “See me after we dock. We’ll try to arrange your transport home.”

He gives the rest of us another steady inspection, and I guess we must look like lost souls, because his eyes soften. “Wherever we are, whatever happens, Cancer sustains us. She is our Center. Find her now in your hearts.”

“What about the people living on Cancer?” I ask, my voice cracking.

When he answers, I get the sense Mathias is trying not to panic us. “The Lodestars foresaw the tsunamis, and the evacuation has already begun. Even now, dive-ships are transporting islanders down to our underwater stations, which are deep enough to remain stable.”

His dark indigo eyes swirl like whirlpools of the Cancer Sea. “Of our House’s three thousand Zodai, fewer than four hundred have survived. Everyone who’s left is on their way to Oceon 6, same as us.”

Kai sniffles, and Deke looks ill. “How do you know all this?” asks Nishi. “We couldn’t connect to anyone on my Tracker or their Waves.”

The Sagittarian version of a Wave is a Tracker. Since they’re such nomadic souls, the Tracker is a wristband that projects holographic data and also functions as a locator. It’s so Sagittarian families can track their loved ones across the Zodiac.

Mathias speaks softly. “I don’t use a Wave. I have my own communication system.”

“The Ring?” asks Nishi, her innate curiosity irrepressible. We’ve all seen the Lodestars on campus whispering into invisible microphones, but none of us know how it works. It’s technology that’s exclusive to the Zodai.

“Since we have so few Zodai left, and as you are what remains of the pool of candidates, you might as well learn as much as you can, as fast as you can.” He spreads his right hand and shows us his Ring. It’s just a plain steel band—or so it seems. On closer inspection, there’s a faint flickering glow around it.

“It looks like steel, but it’s metallic silicon. Like an Ephemeris, the Ring acts as an extrasensory antenna for picking up Psynergy. Only instead of using it to read the stars, the Ring uses Psynergy to link my conscious to every Zodai in the galaxy—what’s called the Psy Network.”

“I read that a person’s Psynergy signature becomes visible in the Psy Network,” says Nishiko. “What’s it look like?” Just like in class, while the rest of us are trying to process the current lesson, her questioning nature is already pushing us toward the next one.

“It’s different for each of us. As you know from your studies, Psynergy is a combination of your psychic energy—which determines your ability to do things like read the stars and access the Collective Consciousness—and your astrological fingerprint. Your fingerprint is on your birth certificate, and it’s a snapshot of Space at your moment of birth: the location of the stars, the rotation of the planet, the pull of the moons, an infinite number of factors. Since there can never be two of the same fingerprint, every Psynergy signature is unique—but it can still be veiled or altered in the Psy.”

“Why does that matter?” asks Nishi.

By now, Deke would be groaning audibly and begging our teacher to ban Nishiko from speaking for the rest of the lesson—but he doesn’t seem to be taking any of this in. He looks how being Centerless feels.

“It matters for the same reason falsified holograms matter: You can’t be sure who you’re talking to. The better you are at Centering, the easier it will be for you to distinguish people’s signatures so you can be certain of who’s listening. We Zodai are only human, so the Collective Conscious can’t help but reflect our flaws.” Mathias is showing remarkable patience, especially under the circumstances.

“If it’s like reading the Ephemeris, how in the world will we see a signature?” asks Kai. “It’s hard enough just seeing the stars move.”

I’m surprised to hear the interest in Kai’s tone, since he looks as defeated as Deke. Then again, I probably do, too. Maybe we all look exactly the same—like corpses who are inexplicably still breathing.

“Even stars leave faint impressions of their trajectories in the Psy,” says Mathias. “Those small, fading lines are enough for an Astralator to measure a movement’s unique astrological footprint. Similarly, a person’s consciousness also leaves its mark. Have you taken Abyssthe in your classes yet?”

The word is a dagger. It stabs us all in the gut, so that not even Nishi can answer. We just nod.

“Abyssthe uses your mind as the receiver of Psynergy, same as the Ring. Both work by activating parts of your brain normally dormant, and they can help you stay Centered.”

A memory escapes the wall that blocks out my early years. Beyond Centering, Mom’s training also involved memorizing everything there is to know about each House of the Zodiac—traits, constellations, histories. But she only brought up Psynergy once.

She told me Psynergy is the magic that makes star reading possible. She said the brain is most susceptible to Psynergy in children, while it’s still forming, and that’s why she had to make me work as hard as she did.

Mom was certain if I practiced every day, I would one day be able to assert myself fully in the astral plane and see more than any other Zodai. By the time I was five, our lessons were lasting up to ten hours a day.

Two years later, she disappeared. For a while, I kept practicing, even harder than when she was around. I thought if I impressed her enough, she would give us another chance. I thought I could locate her on the star map and convince her to come home.

I bite down on the inside of my lip, shoving the memory deep into my subconscious, somewhere it can’t touch me again.

Mathias turns to go. “There’s an observation turret two decks up, and the captain has given permission for you to visit if you’d like.”

A little later, Deke and I press our faces against the thick, scarred glass of the turret, looking out at Cancer. We’ve already passed the moon rubble, but every now and then we catch chunks of rock flaming through Cancer’s atmosphere and crashing into the ocean. From this distance, it’s hard to make out the tsunamis that must be wracking life on our pods and islands. Cancer appears the same as ever, eternally blue and changeless.

“That moon rubble will form a ring,” says Deke. “We’ll be a ringed planet.”

“So now you’re reading omens?”

“Not omens. Physics.” His turquoise eyes droop at the corners, and he has a puffy, rumpled look. “Our tides will change.”

Our tides nourish the shores around our islands, and every sea farmer knows three-quarters of our planet’s creatures live near shorelines. If our tides shift, what will happen to the plants and fish that feed the rest of the ecosystem? How will Dad’s nar-clams survive?

“Nishiko says people become gods after they die,” I whisper. “That’s what Sagittarians believe. They celebrate death, like it’s a happy event.”

“Ask her how she feels about it when her own turn comes.”

He sounds so cold, but I have to remind myself it’s actually pain. He’s hurting as much as the rest of us.

We Cancrians believe those who pass on with settled souls move into Empyrean, a paradise of blissful tranquility reached through a portal in Helios. Some Houses don’t believe in Empyrean at all, and others think it’s a canal from one life to the next, a kind of rebirth. Nishi’s people believe Empyrean is a real planet full of mansions and banquets and dancing in the streets.

Even though it feels like a betrayal to my people, the truth is, I don’t know what I believe.

“There. That’s Oceon 6.” Deke points toward a wheel-shaped satellite floating above our northern pole. It looks like a pinprick of light in an Ephemeris, but it’s growing larger. “The Lodestar said the wheel’s constant spinning creates centrifugal force in its outer rim to simulate gravity. They were on the far side of Cancer when the moons collided, so they didn’t feel the effects.”

I don’t know what to say to all that, so I don’t say anything at all. After a while, he whispers, “When we get there, they’ll have survivor lists.”

I hook an arm around his elbow. “Where were your sisters when it hit?”

“At the factory, probably.” Deke’s family produces a line of pearlescent paint from fish scales that’s very popular, especially among artist circles on House Gemini, where imagination is prized above all.

“Your island’s got hills,” I remind him. “I’m sure they made it to your parents’ house on higher ground.” His parents recently retired and gave the company to their children. Deke lets his twin sisters run it however they want. He looks up to them the way I look up to Stanton.

“They won’t find another Guardian,” he says, changing the subject. His crabby mood is growing contagious. “We have too few Zodai, and qualifying is too tough. And then what?”

“Then the most senior Zodai in Mother Origene’s Council of Advisors will step in until they find one,” I say, pulling the fact from my sea of repressed memories.

Guardians are the spiritual leaders of the Zodiac, and the position is always a lifetime appointment. On some Houses, like Virgo, the Guardian is also the government—Empress Moira rules her whole constellation—but Cancer is run by consensus. Our Holy Mother acts as an arbiter and advisor to our governing body, and she has an equal vote with the rest of our House’s representatives.

“They say a Guardian has to embody the noblest traits of our House,” says Deke. “Compassion, loyalty, selflessness . . .”

“Brooding, clinging, self-absorption,” I add, trying to lighten the mood.

“The Guardian also needs to be a natural at reading the stars. To protect us. You know how rare that is?”

I close my eyes. “Come on, Deke. They’ll find somebody.”

The automated voice speaks through the ship’s intercom: “All passengers, return to crew quarters and prepare for landing.”

My elbow still linked with Deke’s, I pull him away from the view.

Back in the smelly bunkroom, Kai has stopped crying, though he’s still gloomy. Nishiko has cleaned her face and braided her dark hair. I haven’t even thought of my hair.

Growing up, I was always jealous of Stanton, who kept his blond curls close-cropped. So when I got to the Academy, I chopped mine off at the chin. My curls have been growing back ever since, and now they fall to my breasts. I usually keep them pulled back in a bushy ponytail or tucked beneath the gray hood of Stanton’s jacket . . . the one I took with me when I moved to Elara.

Back then, it fell to my knees. Now it’s just the right size—and gone forever.

I strap into the same seat as the start of the trip, barely recognizing the girl I was ten hours ago. The world was a mess of horror and confusion, but even in the face of what we were escaping, at least we were moving toward light and not darkness. The light of Cancer.

Home is on Kalymnos, a small coral atoll in the Northern Hemisphere. Our airy bungalow faces the inner lagoon where we keep our nar-clam beds. At night, bioluminescent microbes glow pale green in the water, creating constellations to rival the night sky. I grew up tending the beds alongside Stanton. We took turns driving off the hungry hookcrabs, but it was Dad alone who beaded the young nar-clams and harvested the pearls by hand.

I never wanted to leave. Becoming an Acolyte was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Dad and Stanton didn’t understand—they knew how much I loved the fresh air and the Cancer Sea. But it wasn’t for my sake I left. . . . I did it for Dad.

He’s always been quiet, but after Mom took off, he barely spoke. Stanton could always find a subject to engage him with, but Dad’s shyer around me. It wasn’t until I was eleven and found an old picture of Mom that I understood why.

I looked just like her.

So I applied to the Academy. If I couldn’t bring her back, I could at least free Dad of her memory.

The ship gives a sharp lurch on touchdown, and something jabs into my hip. I peel open my compression suit and dig into an inner pocket.
Mathias’s Astralator.

“All clear,” says the automated voice. We unbuckle and float out of our hammocks, still weightless. Since we’ve docked at the hub, we won’t experience the wheel’s fake gravity until we reach the rim.

In the hub, we meet a row of officers in the same dark blue uniforms of the Cancrian Royal Guard. They’re floating at attention in zero gravity, and I wonder how they keep so straight and still when they exchange the fist touch with Mathias.

One of them says to him, “Admiral Crius wants to see you and your party at once.”

“Very well.” Mathias grabs onto a stationary rope hanging from a steel bar that wraps along the ceiling. The moment he grips it, the rope heaves forward at a brisk pace, pulling him forward through the air. He turns and waves for us to join him, and we each take a different rope. The Zodai follow along behind us.

Since we’re lined up in a row, my friends and I can’t compare theories on what this meeting could be about. The station smells of ammonia, and the low-wattage lighting makes everything look beige. When the steel bar dead-ends, we let go of the rope and load into a monorail car. Soon there’s a rush of speed. This must be the express train to the rim.

The farther out we go, the more centrifugal force I feel, and it’s nothing like gravity. It’s more like a carnival ride that’s slinging us against the right-hand side of the train. When we reach our destination and I try standing up, I feel like I’m slanting into a strong wind.